129 The Magical Bloodline

Even after many years had passed, that day remained the happiest, most touching moment of Theresa’s life. No matter how much time elapsed, whenever she recalled it, every detail remained vivid and fresh. Even those small nuances she hadn’t noticed at the time now shone brightly in her memory, untouched and undimmed by the passage of time.

It was a clear day, with the sky over Valenda city holding its most beautiful shade of deep blue. At the horizon, a rainbow was fading away, its splendid colors still lingering faintly in the air. The entire city was enveloped in the breath of nature. Towering trees lined the streets, their trunks wide enough that several people could encircle them with their arms. Vines of various plants sprawled wildly across the city, climbing up building walls and slipping through window cracks into rooms. Small flowers of many hues blossomed on these vines, filling the city with a vibrant, thriving spirit.

A restless feeling stirred deep within Theresa’s heart, as if a seed of life was germinating beneath the soil, ready at any moment to break through the earth. With the lively rhythm of the carriage, her heartbeat quickened step by step—“thump thump thump, thump thump thump”—faster and faster, more urgent with each pulse. Eventually, her ears were filled only with the rapid beat of her heart. When the carriage stopped and the young man who had helped her aboard spoke, she heard nothing. Reason told her it was time to get off—to see her mother, safe and alive, finally reunited with the lover she had waited years for. Yet in that moment, every cell in her body stiffened, paralyzed and unresponsive, no matter how desperately she willed herself to move.

How long this stalemate lasted, she could not say. Suddenly, beyond the carriage, the small courtyard gate that had been tightly shut swung open from within. Two figures emerged slowly—one tall, one short; one strong, one slender; a man and a woman—

In an instant, Theresa felt a shattering sound echo deep in her heart, as if something inside her had broken free from its chains. Overwhelmed, a torrent of emotions surged through her—grief, anguish, joy, excitement, and countless others she could neither name nor untangle. The world before her blurred into a sea of crimson. Tears poured like an unbridled flood, unstoppable even to herself, revealing how much sorrow her body had concealed.

She sat in the carriage, frozen and silent, lips tightly pressed until they trembled with effort, crying with such focus that she lost all sense of time and place. She did not even realize when she was drawn into a familiar embrace.

☆☆☆

Opening her eyes, she saw clusters of violet flowers blooming above her. The mineral-like texture of the petals gave off a faint, soothing fragrance. Theresa lay back, gazing up at the ceiling. After a brief, dazed pause, she sprang upright, her head spinning as she searched frantically—

No one. No one was in the room!

Without hesitation, she leapt from the bed barefoot, the cool wooden floor sending a chill through her feet. She hurried through the arched wooden door and burst into the small garden—

“Theresa, my dear little lark, what’s wrong?”

A gentle voice drifted to her ears, bringing back memories of the days when she and her mother had depended solely on each other. The sunlight was too bright, and tears welled again in her aching eyes. Trembling, she took a deep breath and forced her gaze toward the garden’s corner, where beneath the shade of a tree, a slender human woman lay serenely in a rocking chair. She smiled softly and reached out a hand—

“Mother...” Theresa whispered hoarsely, her voice trembling.

“I’m here, come to me, my little lark. Let Mommy have a good look at you.” Renee smiled as she extended both hands, even attempting to sit up from the chair. It was clear this movement was difficult and slow, her strength waning.

Without a second thought, Theresa rushed forward, crouching beside her and gently pressing her back into the chair. Her trembling hand caressed her mother’s face—warm, soft, yet painfully thin and pale, veins visible beneath the skin.

“Mom... Mom, Mom, Mom...” Theresa’s nose tingled as she buried her face in Renee’s lap, repeating the words over and over.

Renee held one of her daughter’s hands while softly stroking her long hair, smiling patiently and responding to each repeated word.

Outside the courtyard gate, a tall man stood watching the tender interaction between mother and daughter. His hands clenched into fists so tightly that veins bulged on the backs. Behind him, Kirill and Angel exchanged nervous glances, quietly edging away—better not to stay and be caught in the storm of their leader’s anger.

Renee soothed Theresa’s tumultuous emotions stroke by stroke. Feeling a familiar presence, her smile grew even more radiant as she turned and called out, “Andy, darling, come see our daughter.”

At the sound, Theresa looked up sharply. A tall man approached slowly behind her mother—golden hair, green eyes, a stern countenance radiating pure masculine authority. One glance revealed a man used to commanding others, accustomed to holding power.

This man was a world apart from the father figure Renee, Aubryon, or Duke Serstan had described. Coupled with the bitterness Theresa had harbored for his absence over the past decade, her gaze was wary, even hostile.

Andrew Anga sensed his daughter’s hostility immediately and felt a pang of regret. He moved to his wife’s side, taking her outstretched hand and draping a thin blanket over her shoulders before locking eyes with Theresa. He saw her dark hair, inherited from Renee, and her deep green eyes, his own legacy. Her face was not strikingly beautiful, but delicate and charming. The sorrow in his heart shifted into a tender warmth—this was his daughter, the continuation of his bloodline.

“Theresa, my little darling, this is your father,” Renee said, clasping their hands together and smiling with a happiness so sweet it filled the air. Speaking to Theresa yet almost to herself, she murmured, “Look how alike you are—those beautiful eyes like the purest emeralds. I used to wonder if green eyes held magic, for the moment I saw your father, I fell in love. And whenever you made mistakes, just by looking into those eyes, all my anger vanished. I often imagined, if you two were both here with me, whose eyes would be the most beautiful…”

Renee’s words flowed softly, slowly, caressing the father and daughter’s hearts like invisible silk, weaving them tightly together.

Previously, Renee had exhausted much of her strength calming Theresa’s overwhelming emotions. This reunion stirred another intense wave, too great a strain for her still-recovering body. Gradually, her voice grew faint and slow, and soon she slipped into a deep sleep.

Instinctively, Theresa sprang up and checked her mother’s breathing and heartbeat before exhaling deeply. At that moment, Andrew explained—

“She’s just tired. She’s sleeping. You don’t need to worry.”

Andrew’s voice sent a sharp twinge through Theresa’s nerves, instantly putting her on alert. She straightened and fixed him with a steady gaze, her lips pressed so tightly they seemed set in stone, her expression stern almost to rigidity.

“You blame me,” Andrew sighed.

Theresa’s mouth twitched, but she said nothing.

Uncertain whether to feel disappointment or regret, Andrew bent down and lifted Renee into his arms. “Your mother isn’t well. I’ll take her inside to rest. If you want to talk, you can wait for me in the study—Kirill will show you the way.”

With that, he carried Renee into the courtyard, disappearing from sight. Theresa pressed her lips together, pouting slightly without realizing her childish gesture.

“Miss, this way, please,” Kirill, a strikingly handsome young man, appeared from somewhere and bowed slightly, beckoning her to follow.

Theresa glared at his outstretched hand as if it were covered in needles. After a long moment, reluctantly, she followed Kirill’s lead.

As Kirill guided her, he subtly turned to make a face at Angel, who trailed behind them. The silent exchange conveyed a message that made Angel smile—indeed, the father and daughter were unmistakably related. Even in moments of anger, their mannerisms were so alike. Bloodline was a wondrous thing; despite distance and years apart, certain traits persisted unchanged across time and space.

Little did Theresa know that her tangled emotions and behavior had sparked such speculation. As she walked, she began to compose herself. Yes, she did resent Andrew. She had once thought she wouldn’t, but the surge of anger she felt upon seeing him surprised even herself.

Truly, blood ties were a marvel… (To be continued)